


flinthamilton drabbles

by intybus



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, did i mention............ fluff??
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-09-07 00:56:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16843906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intybus/pseuds/intybus
Summary: a collection of tiny ficlets from tumblr ask memes!!





	1. “What the hell are you wearing?”

**Author's Note:**

> just.......... saving some stuff and waiting for the apocalypse.  
> i'm also @intybus on pillowfort if ya want to chat about pirates!!

Thomas treads into the kitchen with perfect timing. “The eggs are ready,” James says, as he scoops them out of the water and steals a glance in Thomas’ direction. The sight gives him a pause. “What the hell are you wearing?”

Thomas pouts. “Old age really took a toll on those beautiful eyes of yours, hasn’t it? What does it look like I’m wearing?”

James is too appalled to offer back proper banter. He just stares.

“It’s a hat,” Thomas clarifies after a moment.

James assesses the lumpy—thing balanced over Thomas’ head with a healthy degree of skepticism. “That’s not a hat.”

“Don’t be rude. I wove it myself, straw by straw.”

James’ forehead creases, as he approaches Thomas to give the hat a chance to impress him from a different angle. It stays ugly. “Why would you do that?”

“Well,” Thomas says, stepping closer. “I know a man, very handsome. Almost two times as stubborn.” He cradles James’ face in his palms and grins tauntingly down at him. “He has the fairest skin and such nice freckles. He works under the sun all day and when he comes home his pretty face is all burned up, because he refuses to purchase a damn hat. So I thought,” Thomas takes the hat off of his head and squishes it onto James’. “I’m going to make a hat for this idiot, then sew it personally to his scalp.”

James blinks. The warmth buzzing in his chest dries all the air from his lungs. “You made it for me?”

“I did,” Thomas says, putting the barest distance between them so he can admire the results of his toil. “My god, it looks horrible.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“You’re a liar. This was a bad idea. I should have just bought you one.”

“I love it,” James says, and he does. He feels dizzy with how much he does. “I’m never taking it off,” he seals the promise with a kiss. “It’s my favorite hat.”

“It’s the only hat you own.”

“It’s the only hat I want.”


	2. “Are you ticklish?"

James stands before the bookshelf, perusing pages of pirate-haunted records. “Sorry,” Thomas says, leaning past him to reach for a volume on the far right corner. Without much thought, he secures his balance with light fingers on James’ waist—the contact elicits the slightest flinch. “Sorry,” Thomas repeats, retreating with his loot and the sting of an incipient suspicion hooked in the back of his mind.

Days later, he brushes his palm on James’ side on the way to his desk. The muscles answer the touch with the same instinctive contraction, and the question blossoms on his lips—for some reason, it’s been nagging him sleepless. “Are you ticklish, Lieutenant?”

The surprise registers on James’ face in a quick flicker of lashes. Before answering, he draws himself very straight and schools his expression in one of blank dignity. “No.”

Thomas’ fingertips itch to prickle his composure until it breaks on the truth. “No?”

“I beg your pardon, my lord,” a slight flush colors the tip of James’ ears. “How is the matter relevant to the eradication of piracy in the new world?”

Thomas smirks knowingly, but doesn’t push further—

until he is suddenly struck back with the need to know.

“What?” James asks, noticing a shift in the atmosphere. The soft light of sunrise plays with his freckles, turning them golden. Thomas takes in the sight, eyes sparkling with mischief. 

“Wha—“ James tries to ask again, but Thomas’ fingers attack: they poke James’ sides, his belly, run frantically across his chest, rob the speech from his tongue and fill his lungs with laughter. James squirms and tosses, trapped between silk sheets and Thomas’ merciless torture.

“You sodding liar,” Thomas says, breathing in the last of James’ giggles. “You are ticklish.”

“Maybe just a little bit,” James admits.


	3. “I remember everything.”

The cot is barely big enough for Thomas alone but somehow James manages to squeeze in alongside him. Cocooned beneath the rough blanket, they lay with their hearts pressed together. Thomas basks in the tangible lilt of James’ undisputable proximity: James’ chest swells on an inhale - the pulse of a heartbeat - a puff of muggy air ghosts across Thomas’ lips.

“I missed you,” Thomas says, as they map the years spent apart on each other faces, as their trembling fingertips travel across paths paved in unfamiliar scars and new wrinkles. He can read James’ awe in the lines of his expression. He smiles with relief. “I feared you had forgotten me.”

James’ face contorts, he shakes his head so forcefully they almost roll to the floor. “I longed for you with every breath,” he whispers, bringing their forehead together. “I remember everything.” Thomas feels the wet flicker of James’ lashes across his cheekbones, he feels James’ rugged voice warming up his blood, “My truest love.”


	4. “Do you…well…I mean…I could give you a massage?”

Thomas rolls each of his shoulders in turn: ample, theatrical movements choreographed to catch in one’s peripheral vision and bring in their full attention. Performance consummated, he shoots a look at James just to find him ostentatiously paying no heed to anything besides the big tome in his lap. Of course, Thomas can see right through the affectation. They’ve been dancing this waltz for hours now: every time Thomas glances up from his desk, he finds James’ nose glued to the page. Every time Thomas ducks his eyes back down, he feels his skin prickle under the ravenous roving of James’ gaze.   
This nonsense must stop.

He rolls his shoulders again, taking care to garnish the act with a soft, purposeful groan. He calibrates the sound to be both unmistakably heard and plausibly passed off as a by-product of the weariness of the day.

James’ eyes flit up, and with perfect timing Thomas cranes his neck to one side, stretching the sore muscles there and also – he hopes – James’ overbearing penchant for self-restraint. That last one to the point of tearing. He crafts a new groan and makes it extra lewd just to be safe.

“Is something the matter?” James asks, looking a little flushed.

“Nothing,” Thomas rubs a hand over his nape, wincing theatrically before throwing his head back to grace James with the unobstructed view of his throat. “Just a stiff back.”

“That’s unfortunate,” James licks his lips. “Do you… well…I mean…” he says after swallowing around nothing, willingly rising to the bait. “I could give you a massage?”

Thomas castigates his triumph into somber gratefulness. “I’d appreciate that,” he says, sliding to the edge of the seat to make room for James’ ministration.

The first gingerly applied touch unfurls coils of warmth across Thomas’ back. He closes his eyes and enjoys the attention.

“Is this alright?”

“Perfect,” Thomas purrs, before pressing his lips to the hand on his right shoulder, kissing the inside of James’ wrist, the smooth skin of his forearm. The massage stops and when he glances up, James looks like he’s barely breathing. Suddenly, Thomas cannot bear not to be kissing him.

“Come here,” he murmurs urgently, reaching up to cup James’ face.

James spurts into action, bending down to crush their lips together.As Thomas buries his fingers in his hair, James’ own fingers roam across Thomas’ chest, stumbling downward. “May I?” James asks, loitering over the buckle of Thomas’ belt.

“Of course,” Thomas breathes. “I _am_ rather stiff there too.”


End file.
